What do fifth grade choir and your writing goals have in common? Possibly more than you’d like to believe. Or, let’s just say ‘I’–possibly more than I’d like to believe.
Last night I went to my daughters’ choir concert. Both my third and fifth graders were performing. And I mean, it was cute. Sweet. Lovely. I’m always touched by the voices, the Herculean effort the teachers and staff put in, the props, the happiness, the parental support.
But it was not a night at the Metropolitan Opera.
It was sometimes pitchy, a little brassy–all those precious voices! The mic’s were, well, elementary school mic’s and I couldn’t always understand (almost any) of the speaking parts. I’ve gone to many a concert like this in both choir and band (and I quiver to think of the number of them that my mother lovingly attended). But I have to tell you this one little secret: it gets better. Maybe not cuter, but better. And not, like, a little better. Leaps and bounds. Heavenly choirs better.
How do I know this? Well, in addition to a 3rd and 5th grader, I also have an 8th grader and a 10th grader who sing. And to go from that elementary school gym to the junior high theater to the high school advanced choirs, well, something happens, something amazing.
I remember attending my first junior high choir concert after those days in the elementary school seats. And, oh boy, I left that theater thinking that choir sounded pretty darn good–worlds better (and frankly, they still hadn’t even developed any true basses). I wasn’t even fully prepared for my first high school concert–the kids could sing! In harmony! Without looking like teenage swans (mostly)! And then when my son made concert choir and I attended their fall concert–people, my bones vibrated, my heart trilled from the sounds they were making. In one of the songs I felt like my whole body swelled with their voices–so much beauty, so much talent. It goes to your bones. Five years. That’s all it took to get from tinny fifth grade kidbop to chamber music euphoria.
But here’s the thing. You can’t have one without the other. You can’t have concert choir without first rocking a tune in your little kid voice (whether it’s in choir or the shower or whatever).
Without those first quavering steps–the learning, the bravery, the occasional botched harmonies–you won’t ever get that amazing concert choir. You have to have the first one to experience the last one.
Writing is a little like that. We want to start out at the Met (or maybe even just the high school concert choir). But very very very few of us ever get to. Most of us start out in third or fifth grade singing away. We’re cute. Oh, I’m sure we’re darling. But we’re not masters yet. At a certain point–let’s call this horrible place Junior High–we might even begin to realize how far away from our goals we are (the irony being that we are really so so much closer–like a little bit of vocal maturity and some practice–from being really really good). Kids drop out, find other things to do. But those who stay. Those who put some work and some love into it (they don’t even have to become compulsive, suffering artists), they really turn into something. It takes a few years; it takes a little faith. But with consistent effort, they blossom into little angelic choirs.
And with our writing, I trust that we can too. We’ll have to stick with it. We’ll have to practice. We’ll probably have to listen to people who know more than us and follow their conducting. We’ll have to muscle through sometimes. We’ll have to ignore our doubts or some of the voices telling us to quit because mastery seems so far away. But it’s not. It’s some consistent years, a little love, and a lot of practice.
Now when my tenth grade son sings in the car or in church next to me, he sounds like, well, you know, like a singer. And I wonder where he even came from–the voice, the confidence (at home at least). Wasn’t he just a baby with that little girl-like voice trying to belt out pop songs? Maybe he was, but he’s not anymore. And I hope that one day, as I keep writing, I’ll start to sound a little more like a writer.
Here’s to making it to concert choir one day.
